


Hold On, We're Going Home

by thethirstorder (KaiserPhoenix)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxious Hux, Blood, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Eating Disorders, Food, Hurt/Comfort, Hux-centric, Introspection, M/M, Minor Surgical Procedures, Nausea, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7055254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserPhoenix/pseuds/thethirstorder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s rude to use your datapad when we’re talking,” Ren says with a twinkle in his eye.</p><p>“We’re not talking.”</p><p>“What do you suppose this is?”</p><p>“Fuck off, Ren.” Hux finishes the rest of his nutrition bar and walks over to the table to get his datapad back, but Ren’s use of his name instead of his title stops him in his tracks.</p><p>“Hux. You should watch,” Kylo says, throwing the carrot slices into the pot. “You might learn a few things.”</p><p>Aboard their escape shuttle following the collapse of Starkiller Base, General Hux oversees Kylo Ren’s recovery in preparation for their meeting with Snoke. Without an army to command and with Kylo seemingly determined to make things difficult for the General, Hux’s memories, thoughts, and desires begin to resurface and he realises that he knows more about love and loss than he would care to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful [vadervevo](vadervevo.tumblr.com) made two pieces of artwork for this fic, one for Chapter 2 and one for Chapter 3. Both can be found [here](http://slcywalker.co.vu/post/145419401618/here-are-my-pieces-for-the-kbb-drawn-for%20). Please like and reblog them if you're on tumblr because they really are gorgeous. 
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful betas [h-uxed](h-uxed.tumblr.com) and [kyluxtrashcompactor](kyluxtrashcompactor.tumblr.com). This is the first fic that I have posted that has ever been beta'd.

The first time he lands on the icy planet that is to become Starkiller Base, he removes his gloves and kneels, the snow crunching beneath his boots. He takes a handful of snow and balls it in his fist, melting it. The freezing water trickles down his sleeve and Hux shivers, but not out of discomfort. He didn’t know that water could feel so pure.

He rises, the wind in his hair, his greatcoat flaring behind him. Hux tries to recall the last time he felt wind like this, or wind of any kind. He can’t remember.

In that moment, it dawns on him that this planet is his to take and to shape. Hux will carve his destiny into the world’s very core, the foundations of the seat from which he will restore order. Hux closes his eyes, blueprints and designs taking root in his head, branching into divisions, command centres, platforms. Workstations and training rooms flourish in his imagination and at the heart of it all is the superweapon powered by the energy of the blazing sun that will put an end to the tyranny of the New Republic.

When he is waiting to receive a report or when he wakes up early and cannot sleep, Hux likes to gaze out of the viewport and take in the sublime scenery. Sometimes he will step outside for a few moments to exhale and watch the cloud of his breath evaporate. Hux never allows himself to dream or desire; he thinks only in terms of goals, targets, and objectives. Dreaming is unproductive and a waste of brainpower. When he sees his breath disappear in front of him and when he feels the chill smart his cheek, he reminds himself that he may enjoy this, for it is no dream.

The General works long hours, approving budgets, tweaking Stormtrooper and officer regimes, authorising missions. Most of this work requires him to remain indoors, which he doesn’t mind because for all its beauty, Starkiller Base is ever so cold. Hux paces the corridors of the sculpted planet and revels in its durasteel veins and cliffs of duracrete. He is proud of his work and that of his crew. He tells them so. They cultivate their sectors.

At dusk, Hux sometimes pauses and sips a cup of hot caf to tide him through the evening’s work. He watches the mountains and treetops bite into the Sun.

* * *

 When Hux gives the command to fire the weapon for the first time, the air turns the colour of a billion screams. The energy courses through Hux, a crimson light flickering in his eyes. He is on top of the world before a Galaxy that will bow to him and to the First Order. He watches the weapon until the last flare has died. The silence of the aftermath rages with Hux’s raw power.

* * *

 Snoke orders the destruction of the entire Ileenium system that afternoon. Hux hesitates; there are two, maybe three, habitable worlds there that the Order could claim and populate. He does not tell the Supreme Leader what his motivation is: to give the exiled children of the Empire something akin to a home world. It would be a shame, Hux says instead, for those resources to go to waste.

However, time is transient and destroying the whole system is the most sure-fire way to ensure that the Resistance cannot find Luke Skywalker before they do. Snoke praises Hux, tells him he is efficient. Hux lights up — he gives praise far more often than he receives it and he so rarely hears a kind word from anyone, not anymore.

He bows out of the room and begins preparations.  

* * *

On that same day, Starkiller Base goes down in flames. Hux is stricken and heartsick. From his crude escape shuttle he watches, powerless, as years’ worth of work and the closest thing he has had to a homeworld, collapses into a tight ball of heat. It explodes, tearing the skin of the planet into hundreds of millions of pieces.

Hux shakes his head trying to clear it, slams a fist into the wall of the shuttle, bruising the knuckles of his gloved hand. He tries to think of something — anything — that might ease the anguish of his present situation; his thoughts wrench him back to the day he arrived on the planet, how the snow melted in the heat of his closed hand. Hux clenches his fists hard enough to draw blood even through the leather of his gloves. This self-inflicted pain does nothing and he hurts all over. He can feel the planet burning as if he, too, is being torn apart.

The pieces of earth crumble, their remains dissolving into the vast black nothingness of the universe. Hux stares at the space where Starkiller once was, as though he could resurrect it if he stared intently enough. For the first time since he was little, Hux wishes he were dreaming.

The hot tears that spill from his eyes tell him he isn’t. How ironic, Hux thinks, how _fucking_ _ironic_ it is that such an icy planet should come to so fiery an end, and that not even the purest water in the Galaxy was enough to save it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://www.thethirstorder.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful [vadervevo](vadervevlo.tumblr.com) made two pieces of artwork for this fic, one for Chapter 2 and one for Chapter 3. Both can be found [here](http://slcywalker.co.vu/post/145419401618/here-are-my-pieces-for-the-kbb-drawn-for%20). Please like and reblog them if you're on tumblr because they really are gorgeous. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Content warning: blood, anxiety attack, nausea.**

Aboard their tiny transport, Hux hovers anxiously. He doesn’t know why he is so exhausted. There is no reason for him to be so tired; he has only been awake for fourteen hours and he already ate a meal this cycle. However, his chest is tight and his eyes are heavy.

He turns to the prone figure lying next to him.

Kylo Ren is a wreck — more so than usual. His body is a mass of bloody cloth and charred flesh and his robes are singed and filthy, hair matted around a sallow face and crusted with dried blood and earth. Ren’s lightsaber and helmet are nowhere to be seen.

Hux and the troopers all have basic medical training for if they are ever stranded on tour with injured soldiers, but Hux knows that his skills are nowhere near what is necessary to heal Ren thoroughly. Right now, Hux observes, there appears to be more blood outside Ren’s body than inside it and that is the critical issue.

The troopers did the best they could, stemming the blood flow to keep Ren from death, but the blood from the alarmingly deep bowcaster wound is already seeping through the makeshift bandages. The rolling of the ship mixed with the stench of Ren’s blood makes Hux feel nauseous. Pressing one hand to his stomach as if he is the one in pain, Hux mentally orders himself to keep it together. He turns his attention to the man in front of him.

Ren lies on the shuttle floor; it’s not the most comfortable place but it is the safest option they had. Ren had been awake when they found him but was slipping closer and closer to unconsciousness, which Hux desperately does not want. He needs some visual, tangible proof that Ren is alive and stable. Hux does not permit himself to imagine the consequences if Ren were to die before they could reach Snoke.

“Ren? Ren, can you hear me?” Hux’s voice is hoarse and raw from overuse.

“The girl and FN-2187 — they escaped in the Millennium Falcon,” Kylo slurs. “Turn this ship around and follow them.”

“No,” Hux says. “We’re going back to the _Finalizer_ so you can be treated and so we can pick up supplies. Once you’ve been seen at medbay, you and I are going to Snoke. This is the plan because the Supreme Leader instructed me to come to him with you,” he adds when Ren opens his mouth to protest. “In the meantime, do not cause yourself further injury or damage any equipment on this ship. This ship is very small and any damage you do may result in a crash.”

“I don’t answer to you. They have the map and we are going to give chase.”

Ren tries to sit up, but the torn muscle in his right shoulder screams in protest and the wound in his side leaks more blood onto the floor with the added pressure. He flops down on his back with a grunt of pain. He closes his eyes.

“Keep your eyes open,” Hux orders, trying to keep the note of panic out of his voice. Ren does not respond. Hux considers hitting him in the face to snap him awake, but his eyes fall to the scar on Ren’s face — raw red and blackened around the edges — and decides against it.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Hux says, a little louder this time.

“Stop yelling at me.” Kylo’s breathing grows heavy, and the shuttle’s lumen globes begin to flicker. A few of them fizzle out and the sparks rain down on Hux and Kylo.

“Ren.”

“Turn the ship around.”

“No. I’m taking you to the Supreme Leader after you have been seen to. You are to complete your training,” Hux says calmly.

At the mention of his training, Kylo falls silent and the remaining lights return to functionality.

“We should arrive within the next thirty minutes,” Hux says.

Neither Kylo nor Hux say a word for the duration of the journey.

* * *

 To his dismay, Hux’s anxiety does not dissipate once their shuttle is inside the hangar. As the two troopers who first carried Ren to the shuttle rush him to medbay, Hux knots his hands together, takes a deep breath, and disembarks. Hux is sure that Ren would have kicked and screamed if he had been capable, but he was borderline unconscious by the time they arrived.

Stepping out of the hangar, Hux does his best to look imperious and dignified and he is grateful for the way his surviving subordinates ignore his dishevelled hair, his blood-stained coat, and his tired eyes.

With as much authority and confidence as he can muster, Hux strides down the corridor towards his own quarters. As he walks, he pulls out his comlink.

“Captain Phasma. This is General Hux. Do you copy?” The line crackles. Hux repeats himself. “Phasma, do you copy?”

“Hux. Phasma here. I copy.”

“Are you aboard?”

“Inbound. ETA three minutes.”

“Report to me on arrival.”

“Roger that.”

“Hux out.”

Hux reaches his quarters, punches in his security code. As soon as the doors slide shut, Hux allows himself to drop to the floor. He lies on his stomach, his eyes glad of the familiar sight of his room. He wants to sleep but knows he cannot — Phasma will be arriving any moment now and he has to be ready to command, to issue orders, to lead.

His heart pounds and he still feels horribly sick. He mentally lists all the things he has to do in the coming hours to distract himself until Phasma arrives.

  1. Debrief with Phasma.
  2. Clean up and change.
  3. Pack for departure.
  4. Retrieve Ren.
  5. Leave.
  6. Begin report on the destruction of Starkiller Base.
  7. Sleep.



Hux runs through the list again and again, trying to ground himself but it is no good — he turns over onto his back to relieve the weight on his stomach. His eyes close, his breathing quickens and all of a sudden his collar feels too tight and he shakes all over, he feels certain that he will vomit.

Hux crawls towards his refresher and forces himself to stand, placing both hands on the edges of his sink to steady himself. He undoes his collar and splashes water on his face with trembling hands but it is no good. The panic refuses to leave him and he resigns himself to kneeling and dry-heaving into his lavatory basin. He cannot be sick, Hux realises, because his stomach is empty.

[Art by [vadervevo]](vadervevlo.tumblr.com)

Involuntary tears leak from his eyes at the physical exertion of his anxiety attack and the sounds of his own retching eclipse the hiss of his chamber door as Phasma enters.

“General?”

As soon as Hux hears Phasma’s voice, he gets up, nearly collapsing, wipes his face with his hands and washes them. He pushes his hair back and sighs at his reflection, pink-tinged eyes staring hollowly back at him.

“One moment, Captain. I’ll be right out,” Hux calls. He redoes his collar, straightens his jacket as best he can, and steps out of his fresher.

Phasma stands before him, her helmet cradled in the crook of her right arm, her left in a salute. She too looks weary, but her blue eyes are active and determined, filling Hux with relief and confidence when they look at each other.

“Captain. I am pleased to see you safe,” Hux says sincerely.

“As am I, General. You requested my presence?”

“Yes. I need you to do an inventory of supplies, troops, and personnel. Have all divisions report their losses to you. Forward the numbers to me.”

“Yes, General.”

“I am departing with Kylo Ren, as soon as he is stable enough to travel.”

“Sir?”  
  
“We are bound for Supreme Leader Snoke’s base. Its location is classified. Ren and I will travel alone. This means no droids, no pilot — nothing.”

“Understood, General,” Phasma says solemnly.

“You are in command of the ship until I return. I will communicate with you in case of an emergency, but ideally we will be untrackable in every way.”

Phasma nods. “How long is your journey?”

“Several days. We will be taking a small shuttle so as to be as close to undetectable as possible.”

“Yes sir.”

“Thank you Captain. That is all.” Hux turns away from her, but Phasma hesitates. She realises that Hux does not know that she was the one who lowered the shields. She is duty-bound to tell him and she really ought to do so now. She opens her mouth to say it.

“Sir?”

“Hm?”

Phasma takes a breath. “I have an apology to make. I lowered the shields that permitted the Resistance attack. I was disarmed by FN-2187, accompanied by Han Solo and a Wookie. It would have been foolhardy to try and fight the three of them at once, unarmed, in that control room. It was my intention for my division to storm the block and kill them but they escaped before my troops could arrive.” Phasma knows that pleading is beneath her position and that her fate, whatever it is, will be just.

Hux does not turn back to face her. He does not have the energy to berate her, and it would do no good. They both understand the gravity of what she did. “Noted,” is all Hux says. “My decision remains the same.”

Phasma takes in the slump of Hux’s shoulders and the resignation in his reply.

“May I speak freely?”

“You may.” Hux all but sighs these words out.

“Are you… are you quite well?”

Hux turns around. He respects her too much to lie to her, but he can’t let her know about his condition. He settles for a reassuring evasion. “Everything is under control,” he says.

Phasma takes the hint, her blue eyes sharp with guilt. “Take care, General.” She leaves, her boots heavy on the ground.

Mentally crossing off the first item on his list, Hux heads back to the fresher to address the second.

* * *

 Swooshing out of his fresher doors, Hux feels much better after showering and changing into a clean uniform. He opens one of the drawers next to his workstation, pulls out a nutrition bar and unwraps it. It is a tasteless snack, as is most of the First Order’s food, but it carries sufficient nutritional value. Hux chews on it as he taps out a list of supplies on his datapad.

Hux finishes his list and transmits an identical copy to the workstation in Ren’s rooms. _Probably the first time someone has used Ren’s workstation_ , Hux thinks to himself. He puts in an order for a service droid to pack both of their belongings and load them on their transport. By the time Hux collects Ren, the droids will have loaded their things and everything will be ready for departure at the same time, Hux calculates.

As he heads towards medbay, the lights of the Finalizer shimmer in Hux’s newly-washed ginger hair and his coat billows in his wake. He feels as though he is pretending to be himself.

When Hux arrives at medbay, Ren is lying on a bed, naked except for a pair of black briefs and fresh bandages. His skin still has the sheen of bacta from his turn in the tank and his entire body smells sterile and foreign. His eyes flutter open when he hears Hux enter, but he does not move or otherwise acknowledge Hux’s presence. He closes his eyes again.

“Report,” Hux says to the medical droid nearest Ren.

“Status: stable. Heart rate —”

“Stable enough to travel?” Hux cuts the droid off.

“If he is under appropriate medical supervision then —”

“He **will** be under appropriate medical supervision,” Hux states impatiently.  
  
“— yes.”  
  
Hux approaches Ren’s bed.

“Ren? Are you awake?”

Kylo opens his eyes again. “No, General.”

“Get dressed. We’re leaving,” Hux orders, ignoring Ren’s sarcasm. “Our things are on board already. We have to go. Right now.” Kylo does not move.

“Supreme Leader’s orders, Ren.”

With a visible effort that makes Hux wince almost imperceptibly, Kylo Ren gets up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://www.thethirstorder.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful [vadervevo](vadervevlo.tumblr.com) made two pieces of artwork for this fic, one for Chapter 2 and one for Chapter 3. Both can be found [here](http://slcywalker.co.vu/post/145419401618/here-are-my-pieces-for-the-kbb-drawn-for%20). Please like and reblog them if you're on tumblr because they really are gorgeous. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Content warning: Food-induced panic**

With the shuttle safely set to autopilot and Snoke’s base co-ordinates programmed through, Hux begins his report on the destruction of Starkiller Base. Phasma has not yet completed her inventory, but he can add the statistics in later. Hux is no stranger to authoring reports of losses incurred, but he has never had to record such a large-scale disaster.

 _Detailed here are the events leading up to and during the destruction of Starkiller Base_ , Hux types. A sentence devoid of sentiment that reduces Starkiller to a loss of resources and material, to be rendered in procedural terms only. In this report, Hux cannot mourn Starkiller nor convey what it meant to him and to so many other officers and staff that worked on the base. He runs his hands through his hair, his breath ragged. Hux feels as though he is carrying the entire mass of Starkiller in the hollow of his chest, pulling him towards the ground and crushing his lungs.

Ren stirs on the sofa behind Hux. Hux had tried to convince Kylo to rest in his own quarters but he had simply lain on the nearest accommodating surface available to him and fallen asleep instantly.

“You’re angry,” Ren murmurs. “I can feel it.”

Hux continues to type, ignoring Ren deliberately.

“You know that you’re the one who will take punishment for this, regardless of how many others were involved. You’re afraid.”

“Shut up. I’m working,” Hux says. “Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t hold back, General. Tell me why you are angry.”

“We’re not having this conversation, Ren.”

“But we are. Give in. Your anger will make you powerful.”

Hux does not reply. He hates having his emotions repeated back to him — it unsettles him that Ren in particular can see through the composure that he works to maintain day in and day out. Hux tries to continue his report but he cannot divorce his work from his personal feelings and this is the first time that he has faced this challenge; usually, he can compartmentalise but _what if all who read the report can tell that he’s not neutral and what if they think him weak or incompetent and he becomes the First Order’s laughing stock? What happens when Snoke, the most powerful Force-user he knows, feels how attached Hux was and how he wept shamefully on the deck of the escape shuttle as he watched his world collapse?_

Hux can feel his panic escalating. He slams his fist on the small table before him so forcefully that Ren startles. Hux instantly regrets it; he can feel the bruises blossoming beneath his translucent skin.

“Very well, Kylo Ren, I’ll tell you. Anger,” Hux seethes, “does not even begin to cover it.”

“Imagine, Ren, that you’ve breathed nothing but recycled air for decades. You’ve never felt the wind move through the trees or touched a blade of grass. You’ve never seen the seasons change and you’ve never felt the snow melt at your fingertips. And when, after **years** of that, you are given charge of a place that can end the cause of all this, end the exile and give others new hope, you seize it. You work towards this for the next few years, pouring every atom of your being into this project, expending all possible resources.

“You saw Starkiller fire, did you not? What did you feel at that moment? I felt power and potential, stability and order. I felt it. Now, when all of that work, all of that hope is extinguished mere seconds before you take one step closer to your goal, what would you feel?” Hux hears his voice rising. He lets it.

“I was going to restore order and peace to the Galaxy, Ren! We were so fucking close! Five seconds — **five fucking seconds** , between firing on the Ileenium system and all my labour, the Order’s greatest achievement to date, disappears! Just like **that**!” Hux shouts, snapping his fingers for emphasis. The sound echoes through the shuttle, a crisp click of a blaster ready to fire.

“When the Supreme Leader found out about the base blowing up, do you know what he said to me? He said: ‘leave the base at once and come to me with Kylo Ren.’ That was it! No guidance, nothing; he didn’t give a shit! He only thought of his failure of an apprentice! I’ve rectified your mistakes since day one! You lack discipline and order, Kylo Ren — you’re pathetic! You’re weak! I saw you, lying there in the snow after you were beaten by the scavenger and the traitor. I could have left you to die, you know that? And I would have done, you know that? And I bloody well would have done, were it not for my orders! Fuck you, Ren. Fuck you!

Ren’s eyes flicker at that, but Hux is too immersed in his tirade to notice.

“I should have died there too! It would’ve been a kinder fate than whatever the hell Snoke has planned. Instead, now look where we are! I’m personally shepherding you across the fucking Galaxy because you’re too incompetent to do it yourself. All this, to become Kylo Ren’s personal babysitter!”

Hux takes a deep breath, red in the face from shouting, and blood dripping to the shuttle floor from hands that he clenched involuntarily during his tirade.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” Hux asks quietly, almost whispering, voice quivering with rage.

Several seconds of silence pass.

“Yes, General,” Kylo finally says. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Without warning, the ship’s storage compartments fly open, the compartment coverings blow off their hinges, scattering the supplies that Hux ordered: boxes of nutrient packets spill to the floor, their powder contents exploding, blue milk spewing from the conservator.

Kylo empties the crockery from another compartment, sending heaps of dishes clattering to the ground and smashing transparisteel tumblers into a nearby control panel.

Hux catches his datapad mid-flight to save it from crashing into the wall.

“What in Malachor are you doing?” Hux yells over the noise of Ren’s wreckage. “If you’re pissed off because of what I said, it’s your own damn fault! All this does is prove my point! You never fucking think, do you?”

Ren does not reply, choosing to fling soap and shampoo and shaving creams from the shuttle shelves, liquids staining the pile of formerly-folded clothes haphazardly flung from storage instead.

“Congratulations, you’ve destroyed a week’s worth of supplies,” Hux says venomously. “We’re landing on the nearest inhabited planet to pick up food because I refuse to starve to death because of your recklessness.” _Besides, your wounds need sterile dressing and I want another turn in the sonic_ , he adds mentally.

Kylo laughs, the pain in his ribs rendering it hollow and mirthless.

“Why, General,” Kylo taunts, “I didn’t know you fancied yourself for a flyboy!”

“Pfassk off,” Hux mutters, heading to the cockpit. Hux disables the autopilot, reverting to manual controls. With one hand on the throttle, Hux casts his eye over the radar. The shuttle is approaching a planet called Khthon, which Hux has never heard of but according to the ship’s navicomputer, is inhabited.

As Hux flips a switch and steadies his hand on the clutch, the engine stalls, sending the shuttle into a spasm mid-air. Hux curses under his breath. He did not fight his way to General to end his life in a crash because of Kylo Ren.

“Engage the compressor,” Kylo calls from behind, his voice strained as the turbulence racks his injuried. “You need to engage the compressor or we’re going to crash.”

“What the hell do you know about flying?”

“More than you think. Listen to me!”  
  
“You’ve given me no reason to do that. I’m doing perfectly fi—” The screech of an alarm cuts Hux off mid-sentence. Glancing at his dashboard, Hux notes the rapid increase displayed by the pressure gauge.

“I’m serious! Do it! **Do it now!** ” Kylo bellows. “

Swearing again, Hux engages the compressor. The alarm shuts off and their little shuttle begins to right itself, the spasms subsiding. Pulling up, Hux lands the transport more gracefully than he anticipated. Hux sighs and exits the cockpit, side-eying Kylo nastily. Although Hux can’t see properly and nor does he care to, he is almost sure that the man is smirking, in his satisfaction at being right.

Hux steps over the remnants of the Knight’s tantrum and picks up the few items of clothing untainted by the various fluids on the ground and heads towards his designated quarters to change.

* * *

 “I don’t like sand,” Kylo complains. “It’s coarse and rough and irritating and —”

“— and it gets everywhere. Yes, Ren, **I know**.”

“You could’ve picked a different planet,” Kylo says, gesturing towards the desert before them.

“I said the nearest inhabited planet. Think about how much you hate sand the next time you decide to destroy our things.”

Hux takes in the landscape. Being outside has always helped to calm his frazzled nerves and today is no exception. He breathes a sigh — he is still furious with Kylo for his tantrum and for being right on the shuttle — and focuses on the scenery instead.  

Hux tries not to look too delighted; he hasn’t visited many desert planets and though he has endured hours of Kylo’s lamentation about the evils of sand, he is oddly fond of it. He resists the urge to bend down and pick up a handful of sand and roll the warm grains between his fingers.

As a boy, he spent hours on the Holonet researching different planetary climates. He read about the leafy Lir and its many caves, about Tatooine and its binary suns, the Capital Coruscant and its buildings that reached high into the planet’s atmosphere. His father had told him stories of Arkanis, from where they fled when he was four and far too young to truly remember it.  

Young Hux spent many a night lying awake aboard his cold, durasteel prison and sometimes thought he could hear rain hitting the viewports and the wind whistling through the Academy’s drafty halls. He imagined what it would be like to feel the elements and to walk planetside for what may as well be the first time.

Hux feels a little too warm in his cloak, but he would take this over another hour inside the cramped shuttle any day. He clears his throat.

“Let’s get this over with.” He walks towards the faint hubbub of what he hopes is the planet’s commercial centre. Kylo follows, moving slower than usual due to the pain of his injuries.

* * *

 Standing in the marketplace, Hux in his white tunic and breeches, cream boots and belt, and his long green cloak and Kylo in a black, long-sleeved v-neck shirt and loose-fitting burgundy trousers, they don’t look too out of place, Hux thinks. Ordinarily the hooded cloak would be far too flamboyant for his tastes but with the hood up, it hides his distinctive red hair. The locals are dressed in a similar fashion, though most of them wear tan and shades of sandy brown.

The tables are lined with foods that he has never seen before; exotic fruits, cured meats, oddly-shaped vegetables, powders of varying degrees of spice, liquids of all consistencies and colours, live creatures that move when prodded. The smells mingle together and assault Hux’s senses, overwhelming him.

He stands still, rooted to the spot. All his life, his meals were determined for him and he never had to think about food. Even on tour, he had always had First Order-issued rations. Faced with such a choice and unfamiliar with everything, Hux is having kittens by the litter. He rubs his palms together repeatedly and tries to concentrate, but his thoughts are racing. _Oh kriff, what do I do?_ _If Ren finds out about this he’ll gloat for days and be even more insufferable I don’t know where to start I’ve never seen or heard of most of these things and I don’t know what’s nutritionally optimal and it all looks strange and I can’t but stars I need to eat something and what if Ren can’t cook and we both starve to death because I don’t know how to prepare this stuff and fuck I’d be better off having to forage because at least I learned that in school shit shit shit I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t!_

“General. You’re bleeding.” Ren’s voice pulls Hux from his anxious thoughts. Hux slowly unfurls his fists, which he did not realise he had clenched. Blood trickles from his palms where he dug his nails into them.

“You need help?” The voice of the standkeeper startles Hux.

“No, thank you,” Hux says, backing away slowly. “I’m going this way,” he calls to Ren, pointing to another row of stalls. “You can choose the food. I’ll get everything else. I’ll meet you back here.” Hux hurries away, his hands clasped together.

Kylo watches him go, filing his observations of Hux’s nervous demeanour away for future reference. Kylo paces the aisles easily, picking up different fruits and squeezing them, inspecting vegetables for blemishes or signs of decay, and chatting with the stall managers in their native dialect.

[Art by [vadervevo]](vadervevlo.tumblr.com)

Memories of similar shopping trips from when he was Ben worm their way into Kylo’s mind. He recalls the feeling of Ben’s small hand in his mother’s as she led him around their local marketplace back home on Corellia and the sound of her protestations when Han had come back to meet them, grinning and holding a bottle of whiskey in each hand.

Kylo stops his thoughts there, not wanting to dwell on the past. _Ben Solo is dead, like his father._

He chooses an array of fruits, several hunks of meat, vegetables, a generous loaf of bread, and a hefty canteen of blue milk. To his surprise, there is a vendor offering nutrition bars, the snack of choice on the Finalizer. Kylo doesn’t care much for them, but they are compact and have a long shelf-life. He takes two boxes.

Ren cannot carry all the produce by himself without straining the torn muscles in his abdomen; he will have to wait until Hux returns. He attempts to leave his haul at the stall nearest to their shuttle, but the owner slaps Kylo’s hand away when he tries to put his bag of fruit on the vegetable table.

Kylo sighs mentally at the thought of having to use his powers for something as mundane as this. He looks the vendor in as many of its sixteen eyes as he can.

“You will keep hold of my shopping until I retrieve it,” Kylo says rhythmically and quietly. “You will keep hold of my shopping until I retrieve it,” he repeats, waving his hand slowly.

“I will keep hold of your shopping until you retrieve it,” the stall tender says back in accented Basic.

“And I’ve paid already,” Kylo adds for good measure, remembering that Hux has their credit chip.

“And you’ve paid already.”

* * *

 Having found soap, shampoo, shaving cream, sanitiser, bacta wipes, and bandages — or at least products billed as such — Hux wanders around the market in an attempt to calm himself down. Internally he curses himself for getting worked up over food in front of Ren. _It’s just supplies. It’s going to be fine. Even if we didn’t have any food, we’d be fine. It’s only a few days._

Hux is about to pass by a stall selling holojournals, when a particular projection catches his eye. With a shock, Hux recognises himself — the holojournal’s lead story is the destruction of the Hosnian system and the subsequent collapse of Starkiller Base. He watches, awestruck, as a miniature version of himself strides out onto Starkiller’s platform and prepares to deliver the End of the Republic speech. The holojournal is muted for display, but the raw memory hits Hux with full force nonetheless.

He cannot bear to watch his own speech, yet he cannot tear his eyes away from it. There’s a closeup of Hux’s face, his features twisted beyond human as he screams from the deck. He remembers that exact moment, when passion contorted his face and set his eyes ablaze with power. Longing stabs Hux like a betrayal; he will never again feel as powerful as he did when he stood atop Starkiller Base rallying a thousand Stormtroopers, First Order banners flying in the wind.

That pang of sadness turns Hux away from the sight before him. He tries to think of something else, anything else, other than Starkiller. He kneels, setting aside his purchases and drags a blood-encrusted index finger through the sand. He begins drawing on the ground absent-mindedly. He draws a series of circles, each with a different symbol in the middle. One holds a raindrop, the next a leaf, the following, an arrow. In a pathetic echo of the destiny he carved out mere days ago, Hux digs his finger into the ground, tracing circles overtop of circles overtop of circles.

A boot kicks Hux in the ribs, causing him to gasp. His hand jolts and his doodles are marred.

“Move. You’re in my way,” says a gruff voice above him. Hux remembers that he’s kneeling in the dust in front of a shop and that he probably is in the way.

“My apologies,” Hux murmurs, gathering his things and turning to look at his new companion as he gets up. As he turns, Hux’s hood slips from his head, exposing his shock of red hair. His hands shoot to his cloak to right it and Hux prays to the Maker that this customer doesn’t look at the holojournals in front of them and make the connection.

“Hey, you look familiar… Have we met before?” The newcomer’s eyes narrow as they scrutinise Hux.

“You must be mistaken,” Hux breathes out hurriedly. He all but breaks into a run as he rushes back to find Kylo.

“Ren? Ren, we have to leave,” Hux says, lowering his voice. “We’re all over the holojournals, lead story, first projection — well, I am at least. I think I may have been recognised. We need to get back to the shuttle.”

“Our food’s over there,” Ren says.

“Go get it then! Now isn’t the time to mess around! If you think for one second I’m going to cart your shit back to —” Hux’s eyes lock with Ren’s, the scar that bisects his face and barely missing Ren’s right eye, still raw and pink in Hux’s line of vision. _Oh_.

Remembering Ren’s injuries, Hux grabs Ren’s bag, heaving it along with his own.

“I’m going to run. Come as quickly as you can. I’ll rig the ship for departure,” Hux says breathlessly. He shoots off, wincing as the bag’s handles cut into his savaged palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "Khthon" is the Greek word for "Earth."  
> \- Hux's reaction in the marketplace is drawn from my personal experiences. I can't go into a grocery store without panicking and it takes me forever to choose anything. 
> 
> Come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://www.thethirstorder.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful [vadervevo](vadervevlo.tumblr.com) made two pieces of artwork for this fic, one for Chapter 2 and one for Chapter 3. Both can be found [here](http://slcywalker.co.vu/post/145419401618/here-are-my-pieces-for-the-kbb-drawn-for%20). Please like and reblog them if you're on tumblr because they really are gorgeous. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Content warning: eating disorders, minor surgical procedures, needles**

Hux puts down the bag of groceries, eyeing it as if he expects a venomous creature to crawl out of it. He heads straight to their makeshift fresher to wash his blood-stained hands and shed his cloak. When he comes back out, he slowly unloads Kylo’s goods. Kylo watches, noting the hesitation in Hux’s actions. All the groceries are laid out before them and Hux pauses for a fraction of a second too long before storing them.

“Leave the fruit and vegetables out. We’re going to eat some of those now,” Kylo says confidently. It’s a command, but Kylo phrases it as a piece of advice. “The blue milk and the meat can go in the conservator and the bread can go in the freezer.” Hux is surprised by Kylo’s knowledge of home economics but does not want to give him the satisfaction of enquiring where he learned it. Hux decides it is better to preserve his dignity and simply listen to Ren’s direction and ask as few questions as possible so as not to draw attention to his discomfort.

“Leave the nutrition bars. Those are ready to eat. The rest of it can go in the compartments.” Kylo watches as Hux puts away the last of the food.

“Didn’t they teach you how to cook at the Academy?”

Hux does not reply. He never liked cooking. It was always such a hassle, trying to remember which ingredients to use and in what proportions. He worried constantly about making too much food or not enough and he would obsess for hours about the nutritional value of his meal, trying to attain the perfect balance.  
  
He had picked up some basic food preparation skills while at the Academy, which did not provide dinner past the age of 12. Instead, the cadets were expected to make it themselves as part of a survival skills course. However, Hux had taken a different approach and passed the course by demonstrating that he could survive on next to nothing.

“How are you so bad at this?” Ren persists. Hux glares at him, and Kylo regrets the sharpness with which he asked.

“I will not tolerate you questioning my competence. We don’t have a full kitchen on this shuttle and we haven’t commenced dinner preparations so there is no possible way for you to evaluate my culinary aptitude,” Hux says with what he hopes is finality. He opens a nutrition bar — one of the few familiar items — and nibbles delicately at the corner. Its bland taste is oddly comforting.

Hux had as much opportunity to refine his palate as he did to travel planetside. To him and to everyone else exiled to the Unknown Regions, food was scarce and much more a necessity than a pleasure. When Hux joined the Academy he survived on rations, which were nutritionally adequate but devoid of flavour. Aboard the _Finalizer_ , the food was much the same: designed for efficiency and not for taste.

“Do you even like food?”

“It isn’t a matter of like or dislike,” says Hux, swallowing. “It’s a matter of sustenance.”

“What’s your favourite?”

“Whatever keeps me alive.” Hux takes a large bite out of the nutrition bar, more aggressively than is warranted.

Ren walks over, fills a pot with water at the sink and places it on the cooker. He presses a button to ignite the heat current underneath it. He picks up a carrot, rinses it, and begins to chop it with his left hand. Hux watches, surprised at the precision and grace of Kylo’s cutting even when using his non-dominant hand. The corners of Ren’s mouth lift in a faint smile; Kylo can see Hux watching him from his peripheral vision.

Embarrassed, Hux retrieves his datapad and is about to resume work on his report when the device leaves his hands and settles back on the table where it was.

“It’s rude to use your datapad when we’re talking,” Ren says with a twinkle in his eye.

“We’re not talking.”

“What do you suppose this is?”

“Fuck off, Ren.” Hux finishes the rest of his nutrition bar and walks over to the table to get his datapad back, but Ren’s use of his name instead of his title stops him in his tracks.

“Hux. You should watch,” Kylo says, throwing the carrot slices into the pot. “You might learn a few things.”

“That’s **General** Hux to you.”

“Not really. We’re co-commanders, are we not? We’re the only ones on board and last I checked we’re evenly ranked.”

“You don’t have a rank.”

“I definitely outrank you in culinary aptitude, as you put it.”

Hux scowls, his lips twitching. He doesn’t want to argue with Ren on this, but he also does not want to admit defeat. Hux sits on the bench near the kitchenette and looks at the ground. A few seconds of silence pass as Ren continues to prepare the vegetables, cutting up an onion this time. The knife emits a crisp slicing sound with each stroke.

“Come over here, General,” Ren says after a few moments.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I invited you over. Come here.” When Hux does not get up from his seat, Kylo sighs dramatically. “I can make you, you know.” Kylo puts down his knife and stretches one hand towards Hux, who can feel the pull of Kylo’s power. Not hard enough to deprive him of control, but just so that Hux can feel that Kylo is not lying when he says he can.

“Fine.” Hux reluctantly gets up and goes over to Kylo, who has moved onto chopping tomatoes.

“Here,” Ren says, handing the knife to Hux. “You try.” Hux takes the knife and cuts into the tomato, its juice spurting everywhere as the tip of the knife crushes the fruit’s skin. Hux recoils, determined not to get juice on his clothes.

“Use the whole knife, Hux. The blade is heaviest at the bottom and you’ll get a smoother stroke that way. Here, I’ll show you,” Kylo says without a hint of condescension. Kylo places his left hand on top of Hux’s right, moving Hux’s arm forwards, so that the knife’s hilt is in line with the tomato.

“Unhand me. It isn’t efficient to have both of us doing one person’s job. Also I never gave you permission to —”

“Hux. Relax. I’m showing you how to prepare a meal.”

“Very well, **Kylo**.” Hux decides that he’ll play Ren’s little game because fighting him is a waste of energy. Kylo keeps his hand on top of Hux’s and guides him through his slicing.

“See? Much easier,” Kylo says. He retrieves some small potatoes and dumps them unceremoniously into the pot.

“We’re going to bring these vegetables to boil and brown the meat at the same time. We can combine them in this pot here and then we’ll bake it,” Kylo says.

“I know how to boil vegetables,” Hux murmurs.

“What exactly did they teach you at the Academy? In terms of cooking?”

“Well… I suppose it wasn’t cooking in the traditional sense. More like eating for survival. The key thing to remember is that if you boil something, you sterilise it and it’s safe to eat after that,” Hux says.

Ren snorts with laughter, “So you just learned how to boil things and that was your survival strategy?”

“No, that’s not what I said. We also learned how to tell a poisonous plant from an edible plant,” Hux says pathetically.

“Right,” Kylo says, grinning. “So you’re telling me you could survive abandonment on a hostile planet as long as you could boil things and eat non-toxic plants?” At this, Hux blushes.

“I still passed the course with flying colours.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“By not eating anything and not dying.”

“You’ve got to be kriffing joking.”

* * *

The casserole, Hux admits, is the best meal he’s eaten in a very long time. For one thing, he can taste a number of different flavours at once: the alcohol that Kylo added (“trust me,” he had said when Hux looked appalled at Kylo pouring red wine into the pot), blended beautifully with the tang of the tomatoes and enriched the whole meal. Kylo had seared the meat and cooked the onions and tomatoes in the same pan so that the flavours mixed and complemented one another.

Then there was the texture. The meat was tender and juicy, much better than the stringy lumps served on the _Finalizer_. The carrots gave the dish a soft crunch and the potatoes rounded it out and made it filling. For dessert, Kylo had made a fruit salad consisting of what looked like four different kinds of fruits. Hux had flinched slightly as Kylo mixed them — he had never liked his foods to touch.

“How is it?” Kylo asks.

“It’s good,” Hux says, giving credit where credit is due. “Where did you learn to make food like this? Not your Force-training, surely.” Hux tries to picture the Supreme Leader giving Kylo cooking lessons. The mental image he conjures up is utterly ludicrous and Hux fights to keep a smile of amusement from his face.

“Well, now that you mention it, I’d usually marinate the meat for a day or two, or slow-cook it to give it that tenderness. We didn’t have time for that today so I used the Force,” Kylo says, masking his evasion of the question.

“So your Force is useful for things besides choking my officers and wrecking First Order apparatus,” Hux quips.

“Without it, you’d be stuck with nutrition bars, so count yourself lucky,” Kylo retorts.

Hux spears two chunks of fruit with his fork and chews thoughtfully. Kylo had covered his own portion with a suspicious-looking powder (“it’s called **cinnamon** , Hux”), which had made Hux sneeze when he smelled it.

Kylo thrusts his fork in Hux’s direction. “Want some? You should try it with the cinnamon. It’s tastier.”

“No. It made me sneeze. I think I’m allergic.”

“Because you’re not supposed to inhale it like that.” Kylo shoves his fork in front of Hux’s face again.

“It’s unnecessary.”

“You said the same thing about the red wine and that turned out well. You said so yourself.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “All right.” He raises his hand to take the fork from Kylo, who withdraws it.

“Open up, Hux.”

“Preposterous,” Hux remarks, shooting Kylo a glare.

Kylo cocks a smile. “Again, I could make you. Or, you could choose not to fight me on every single little thing.”

Hux opens his mouth, blushing a regrettable shade of pink as Kylo feeds him.

“Well?”

“It’s decent,” Hux begrudges.

“I consider that a success, General,” Kylo smiles.

* * *

Ren heads off to the fresher for a turn in the sonic shower while Hux does the dishes. Kylo left them in a heap in the sink and Hux can’t stand the clutter. Besides, Ren cooked the whole meal and was surprisingly patient throughout. _The nerve-burner can absolutely control himself when he wants to_ , Hux thinks as he dries the last bowl.

Kylo steps out of the fresher with a towel around his waist and a medikit in his hand. Hux looks away politely and quickly realises there is no point; Ren’s wounds need dressing and he won’t be able to do it himself.

Hux rummages around in his bag and locates the bandages and bacta wipes he procured. Ren sits on the sofa and has already started, pulling bandages from the medikit and trying to patch up his own shoulder. He curses when he can’t get the bandages at the right angle using only one hand.

“I have more over here,” Hux calls. “And some bacta wipes. I picked them up today.” Spraying sanitiser on his hands as he walks, Hux moves to stand in front of Ren in between his spread knees. He tears open the pack of bacta wipes.

“I can do it myself,” growls Kylo.

“And what a fine job you were doing before. Leader Snoke wants you in one piece.” Hux leans down to clean Kylo’s shoulder with irritating precision. Kylo lets him.

The pair stay silent as Hux works. Kylo watches Hux’s slender fingers gliding over his torn shoulder, applying the bacta and bandage pads him up with a physician’s skill. Hux winds bandages around Kylo’s waist, over his injured side and can’t help but admire Ren’s physique. For want of a better word, Hux thinks, the man is _positively shredded_. He brushes his fingertips subtly over Ren’s chiseled abdominal muscles as he secures the bandage in place.   

When Hux touches the scar on Kylo’s face, Ren jerks away instinctively but Hux hushes him, cupping his face tenderly with one hand and tracing Kylo’s scar with the other. Hux is gentle, yet unaffectionate, executing each move with a cold efficiency. With one hand on the back of Kylo’s head, Hux massages cream into his scar with the other.

Standing back, Hux pulls a syringe from the medkit he brought on board. He turns to Kylo.

“This might hurt.”

Kylo does not respond. He keeps his eyes open and does not take them off Hux for a single second, eying him warily as Hux injects the pain medication into his left arm. Hux notices a muscle twitch in Kylo’s jaw and shivers slightly as the cold liquid enters his bloodstream, but those are the only two indications of discomfort Hux sees in the other man.  

When Hux is finished, Kylo grunts out a thank you and stalks towards his chambers for the night.

Hux sighs and takes Ren’s place on the sofa. He longs for sleep too, but he’s determined to make progress with his report before he turns in for the night. Hux is no stranger to sleep deprivation, and this has been an exceptionally trying cycle. Still, he works through it, tapping away at his datapad. He writes sentence after sentence, reliving the pain of Starkiller’s destruction with every letter he types.

The tallies from Phasma came in while he and Kylo were out shopping and Hux feels the losses like a blow to the chest when he reads them. He lost 5,041 troops, 253 officers, and the vast majority of the base’s engineering and tech crew, as well as an entire career’s worth of planetary construction. With quivering fingers, he enters the statistics and converts them into a chart. An awful feeling settles low in his stomach and he closes his eyes in despair.

Tears well at the corners of his eyes again and Hux can’t even tell if he’s crying from pain or frustration or exhaustion or all three at once. He rubs his eyes angrily, cursing his weakness. Hux blinks several times and tries to steady his shaking hands, but to no avail.

When it is evident that he cannot stop himself from crying, Hux gives up trying to fight it. He types away vengefully, furiously, as the tears stream down his face. Hux gasps into the night, trying to catch his breath without being too loud. Every breath feels like a scream caught in his throat and Hux places one hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to stifle his sobs. With his other hand, Hux covers his eyes, squeezing them shut involuntarily and forcing yet more tears down his face.

A sudden shout from Kylo’s room interrupts Hux’s mournfulness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hux's relationship with food is very similar to my own; I can't cook for the same reasons. I have never made a casserole in my life and I hope that the procedure I described made sense.
> 
> Come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://www.thethirstorder.tumblr.com)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful [vadervevo](vadervevlo.tumblr.com) made two pieces of artwork for this fic, one for Chapter 2 and one for Chapter 3. Both can be found [here](http://slcywalker.co.vu/post/145419401618/here-are-my-pieces-for-the-kbb-drawn-for%20). Please like and reblog them if you're on tumblr because they really are gorgeous.

_ “Leave here with me. Come home. We miss you.”  _

Kylo Ren stands before his father, tears pooling in his deep brown eyes. His heart pounds in his chest and he feels a rough push inside of him, as if the Force itself is tugging at his heart, pulling him towards Han Solo. The wind groans outside and Kylo feels it chill him to his core, reaching for him with fingers of pale light. 

Kylo stumbles forward, tripping and shivering, to fall at Han’s feet. He looks up, sad eyes brimming with nearly a decade of pain unconsoled. He tries to speak, but the words don’t come; instead, he chokes and the tears leak from his eyes despite himself. 

“I’m being torn —” Kylo begins, but his voice cracks and shakes with the effort of speaking evenly. “I’m being torn apart. I want to be free of this pain.” 

His father looms above him, brown eyes so like his own softening in sympathy and flooding Kylo with light. Kylo breaks off his gaze; the resemblance hurts too much, represents a loss so great that he cannot look it in the face. 

_ But did you ever have anything in the first place? _ says a grim voice, lower than his or his father’s.  _ Shut up!  _ Kylo shouts at the voice, the thought echoing in his head like a ricocheting bullet.  _ There is only me_, the voice says inside him.  _ I am all that was and ever will be. _

Kylo replays his father’s words in his head.  _ Snoke is using you for your power. When he gets what he wants, he'll crush you — you know it's true.  _ Kylo doesn’t move, it does not do well to have these treasonous thoughts in his head —

Before he can finish his thought, Kylo  finds himself lying on his back in the snow as the planet crumbles around him. He tries to get up but his own weight pins him to the ground. He hears Hux’s voice and his heart soars with relief, but Hux himself does not come. 

_ Failure of an apprentice, _ Hux’s sharp voice screams.  _ You’re pathetic! You’re weak!  _

“No… Hux, please!” Kylo cries as he looks upwards at the sky, calling to the high heavens that the voice will stop taunting him.  _ You deserve to be left here to die, _ Hux’s voice whispers. _ I’m leaving you here to die. _

A figure advances towards him in the distance and Kylo could cry again — Hux is coming for him after all. As the figure nears, Kylo’s eyes go wide with surprise; it is not Hux — it’s Han Solo. Kylo tries to scramble back from his father, but his wounds will not permit him and he is helpless before Han. 

“Don’t touch me!” Kylo roars as Han leans down to lay a hand on his forehead. This only makes Han lean closer, so Kylo balls his left hand into a fist and swings at Han’s face with all his strength. 

* * *

A loud crash jolts Ren awake. He sits upright, panting and sweating and shaking from the intensity of his nightmare. The door to his temporary quarters is open, light spilling in from outside. Something stirs to the right of his bed and Kylo raises his fist again instinctively as the figure gets up.

Hux stands before him, stormy eyes tormented and pink-tinged. It takes Kylo a second to recognise him in his cream and white clothes. His lip is split and he holds a handkerchief to the cut, a bright scarlet stain growing on the white fabric. 

“Ren. It’s me. It’s General Hux.” Hux’s voice is cracked and thick with the aftermath of his sorrow. “I heard a noise… I came to check on you.” 

“You’re hurt. Did I do that?” Kylo asks, his voice full of remorse that Hux has never heard from him before. He points to Hux’s mouth. 

“I’m perfectly fine,” Hux replies, dabbing at his lip with his handkerchief. “It’s you I’m concerned about.”

“I’m all right,” Ren says with an air of finality. He takes in Hux’s face, mostly shadowed by the light behind him and flushed pink from crying. Kylo could swear that he could see the remnants of tear streaks on the General’s cheeks.

“I killed him, Hux,” Ren whispers, looking right at Hux.

Hux is puzzled. “Killed who?”

“Han Solo. He’s dead.”

“So? I killed a billion people with the click of a button,” Hux says bitterly. Kylo flinches back and Hux realises too late the significance of what Ren just said. Snoke may have banned the pronunciation of Kylo’s birth name, but that doesn’t change the fact that Hux knows he’s Han Solo’s son. 

Hux clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Ren,” he apologises. All of a sudden, he feels unsteady on his feet, the events of the day catching up to him at last. Hux has lost count of how many standard hours it has been since he last slept. He leans on Kylo’s bedframe for support and closes his eyes.

Kylo shifts, eyeing Hux. “You’re exhausted, General.” 

“Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me.”

Kylo moves over and gestures for Hux to sit beside him, which, to his amazement, he does. Hux perches himself on the edge of Kylo’s bed, his back to Ren.

“You can lie down,” Kylo invites. 

“Or what, you’ll make me?” Hux quips. Hux sighs; he always becomes more irritable than he would like when he’s tired. It represents a lack of control and order, which he loathes and only makes him more annoyed with himself. 

Kylo casts his eyes downwards and Hux feels a hint of guilt at his nastiness. “I’m sorry, Ren,” he says again, swinging his legs up onto the bed and wiggling himself into position so he can lie down. His clothes are going to crease horribly, but that’s better than the alternative of being half-naked in a bed with Kylo Ren, Hux reasons. 

Quietly, they lie like that, Ren still sitting up and Hux on his side on top of Ren’s covers. After several seconds of silence, Ren speaks. 

“Did you mean it, Hux?”

“Mean what?”   
  
“When you said you’d have left me to die.”

Hux hesitates. “Not knowingly, no. If I hadn’t been given orders to find you, I would have died there too.”

Kylo pauses. “You say such awful things when you’re angry.” 

“I know I do,” Hux admits. He almost reminds Kylo that he provoked him to explosion before, but decides against it; he’s been unnecessarily waspish enough today.

“It’s a good thing. You can channel your anger into energy.”

“What do you suppose I was doing with Starkiller?” Hux breathes out the name of his dead planet like a prayer.

Kylo doesn’t reply. He threads his fingers through Hux’s hair, shocked when Hux doesn’t pull away. 

“Ren?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think I ever thanked you. For making us dinner,” Hux murmurs, voice almost slurred due to tiredness. “So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, General.” Ren moves to lie down beside Hux, two chaotic figures forced into  parallel by the universe. He tugs at his duvet under Hux’s body until Hux sleepily rolls off it to free it. Kylo throws it on top of both of them again and curls himself around Hux, snaking an arm around his slim waist. With his other hand, he strokes through Hux’s feathered hair. 

Hux shrinks back against Kylo’s bare chest, absorbing the warmth of his body. He can’t remember the last time he slept alongside someone else like this, wrapped in their embrace and their blankets. 

He can feel Kylo’s heartbeat against his spine through the fabric of his tunic and Kylo’s breath ruffling his hair, slow and regular. Hux tries to breathe in synchrony with Kylo’s, their chests rising and falling in time. 

Hux feels the frustrating compulsion to start crying again. This sudden show of affection and the shock of feeling comfort for the first time in years overwhelms him. Behind him, Kylo feels Hux’s breathing becoming irregular despite efforts to control it. He reaches his hand up from Hux’s waist to catch a stray tear from Hux’s eyes. 

“It’s okay, Hux,” soothes Kylo. “You’re okay.”

“No. None of this is okay, Ren. The Supreme Leader —”

“Shhhh. Let’s not think about that now.” Ren’s hand trembles as he cards through Hux’s hair.

“You’re right. We should think of other things. Snoke can wait until tomorrow,” Hux says. Kylo squeezes him tight in response.

“Tell me about your homeworld,” Hux asks. “I want to hear about it.” Hux rationalises his request in his head: _ I want to think of something else and Ren can talk about his father if he needs to. _

Kylo stiffens behind him. For a moment, Hux suspects he has sent Kylo into one of his rages, but Ren surprises him. “I grew up on Corellia, one of the Core Worlds.” Hux knows where Corellia is, but he says nothing. “It’s my father’s homeworld. We lived in Coronet City. Everyone there knows to fly a starship, everyone. I have never met a Corellian who can’t fly.”

_ Ah. So that’s how he knew what the problem was with the ship_, Hux notes. He listens patiently; Corellia was where many of the Imperial starships were manufactured. It was one of the places he had most wanted to visit as a young boy. 

“Its temperature fluctuates but it has four distinct seasons. My favourite is spring, when the weather warms up but not too hot, and the plants start to bloom again.” Hux closes his eyes and tries to picture Corellia’s landscape. 

“Corellia is beautiful all year round,” Ren continues. “The crops we planted would grow through the summer and be ready to harvest for the winter. I learned to cook with food we grew,” Kylo says, answering Hux’s earlier question.

Kylo continues to speak in low, soft tones. As Hux drifts off to sleep with Kylo’s hand still in his hair, he tells himself that he’s curled against Kylo for the Knight’s benefit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have left this open ended so that I may continue it in the future. I don't know if or when that will happen, but for now it is complete. If you're interested in reading a darker fic about Hux's eating issues, then head [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8019343/chapters/18359413). It's not exactly a sequel to this one, but I tried to keep the characterisation consistent. 
> 
> Come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://thethirstorder.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is taken from [the Drake song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxgqpCdOKak).


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